


Green Tobacco Sickness

by wneleh



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Gen, corn maze oddness, semi-lucid semi-dreaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 17:52:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8294758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wneleh/pseuds/wneleh
Summary: “It was twenty years ago, Rhett,” Link said.  “Why does it matter now?"





	

**Author's Note:**

> This draws heavily from Ear Biscuit #35 [Summer Jobs](https://soundcloud.com/earbiscuits/ep-35-rhett-link-summer-jobs-ear-biscuits), released May 31, 2014, during which Link mentions that he got nicotine poisoning working tobacco the summer he was 16. Specific words and actions attributed to Rhett's and Link's friends and family are completely made up. I also arranged their summer 2014 schedule as I pleased, to get them to North Carolina during corn maze season.

_May, 2014_

After getting the nod from the audio tech temp that everything looked fine, Rhett dismissed him for the night, then leaned back in his chair, trying to project a combo of “Heck it ain’t no big deal” (the nonverbal ‘ain’t’ intentional) and “You know I’m going to keep asking so you might as well spill.” 

Link quirked an eyebrow and leaned back himself, trying to mirror the position. Because, apparently, you never got too old to be a smart-ass. “Go ahead,” he said. 

“So, how’d I miss you being laid up a week with nicotine poisoning?” Rhett asked. “That was, what, the summer after tenth grade?”

“I was with my dad in August, like always,” said Link. “You remember I always did that?”

“Yeah, when you were, like, nine, you’d disappear. But sixteen?”

“That’s the summer you were building houses with Trent,” Link said, straightening, suddenly – wary? “After I got my license, I drove in from my mom’s house in July, and in August I lived with my dad until the start of school. I think we saw each other plenty, since we both had wheels. But probably just not as much in August.”

“Actually, that’s the summer I was cleaning out UNDER the houses for Trent’s dad,” said Rhett. “You could’ve, too, you know. You didn’t have to work tobacco.”

Nicotine poisoning. Link had been poisoned – those SOBs had poisoned Link - and he’d missed it.

“I wanted the job,” said Link. “Or I thought I did, going in. Chance to work with my dad. Chance to work with my cousins.”

“Chance to be a walking PSA about the dangers of child farm labor!”

“I don’t think I did much walking, once it really hit me,” said Link. “Anyway, it was no big deal.”

“You shouldn’t have taken the job.”

“It was twenty years ago, Rhett,” Link said. “Why does it matter now? And, besides, if I could mess myself up with a few damp tobacco leaves, can you imagine what I’d have done with power tools!”

\- - - - -

It didn’t take Rhett much googling to learn more than he wanted to know about “green tobacco sickness.” From Link’s description, it sounded like he’d had a particularly bad case. While not deadly in of itself, it seemed, the condition upped the victim’s susceptibility to “heat illness” – lovely – and – damn it – it caused “problems with learning and cognition” in children. How had Link’s grades been, start of junior year? That’s when they’d taken their PSATs – how much higher could Link have scored?

Link’s weird thing with numbers. Had he had that before eleventh grade? What about his verbal gaps? When had they started?

He could see it now in his mind’s eye, Link wilting in the summer heat, while sweat-drenched Neal cousins – Rhett couldn’t recall their names - stepped over and around him.

They’d poisoned Link, hitting the one place he could usually protect – that completely bizarre, amazing mind of his.

Link should have gotten a job from Trent Hamilton. Rhett should have made him.

\- - - - -

That night, Rhett dreamt about high school. That it WAS a dream was quickly established – Link, fully adult, in a red polo shirt and khakis, told him so. 

Half-lucid dreaming, for the half-win.

Trent, still a kid, was there as well… Wearing a Rolex, which was really weird. That wasn’t the sort of thing he did.

Trent was showing off his watch, but Link was unimpressed. “I can buy one of those myself soon,” he said. “I’m working for my uncle this summer, with my dad and all my cousins. Working tobacco.”

Link would never, in a thousand years, spend more than $10.99 for a watch.

“Rhett’s working for MY family,” said Trent, “in my place. My dad wanted me to clean out crawl spaces but I got a better offer.”

They’d never had this conversation. 

“Cool,” said Link, looking at Rhett with sympathy. “I bet that will be great for his back.”

\- - - - -

Rhett couldn’t hang up from his next call home without asking his mom, “Did you know Link got green tobacco sickness one summer?”

He expected his mom to not know what that was, or to deny that Link’s family could ever have let such a thing happen, or maybe even just say, “No.”

Instead, she said, “What does Link say about it?”

“Just that it happened. That he was sick as a dog for about a week.”

“Interesting,” she said. “Just let it rest, okay, honey? Don’t pry.” 

\- - - - -

That night, Rhett dreamt again about the spring of tenth grade. This time, he, Link, and Trent were in Trent’s rec room, with the pool table and the Nintendo and the Sega systems, each with dozens of games. Trent proudly proclaimed that he’d bought everything himself, with money he’d earned working for his dad since he was a little kid.

“You think it’s harder or easier to work for family?” Link asked. “I hate mowing for relatives, I feel like I have to be perfect.”

“Some of the guys go easy on me, some go harder,” said Trent. 

_Ask him for a job right now_ , Rhett willed Link, _ask him, ask him…_

“Food’s better when you work for family, though,” Link was musing, and this was not going according to plan at all.

“Dunno, I’ve only worked for my dad,” said Trent, and now both he and Link were looking at Rhett sympathetically.

“Too bad your dad’s a professor,” said Trent. 

\- - - - -

The next time Rhett dreamt about that summer, Link was lying face-down in a ditch.

Link was also standing next to him, making tsk-tsk noises. “I think someone actually found me near a stream,” he said. “There was a nice little creek we used to wade in. Stupid of me to head there, not to want to bother anyone.”

He paused.

“Also, don’t be so dramatic with the positioning. I wasn’t face down. I’m not an idiot.”

“That’s not always obvious,” said Rhett. “You should have taken more precautions.”

“Rhett, I was sixteen.”

“You shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

“I’m not going to argue that point. It’s not something I’d let my own kids do.”

“You should have asked Trent for a job.”

“That was your thing,” said Link. “You and Trent.”

Rhett jolted awake, heart pounding – and THAT was more alarming than anything in the dream had been.

He grabbed his cell phone and texted, “Were u jealous of me and Trent?” Hitting ‘send’ before he lost his nerve.

Link was a sound sleeper, so Rhett was surprised when his phone buzzed a minute later. “Maybe a little. Go back 2 sleep.”

\- - - - -

Of course Link wanted to talk about it as soon as he picked Rhett up the next morning, though Rhett had awoken hoping that the text exchange had been part of the dream.

“So you were thinking about Trent Hamilton,” said Link. “Why?” 

“I was wondering if there was some reason you didn’t want to work for his dad that summer.”

“Hard to remember, it was so long ago… but I guess maybe I did think that you two should have your time together, just like I was getting to spend time with my cousins. That just seemed more your world. You were thinking about maybe becoming an architect. And, you know, rich folks…”

“What do you mean, ‘rich folks’?”

“I think part of me thought I was destined to be a tobacco farmer.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“That summer cured me of the notion,” said Link. “Anyway, I never seriously considered asking Trent about working for his dad. Of just following you there. There were a ton of other things I could have done. And I think if I’d wanted a construction job I’d have asked Frankie for one directly.”

“You would have?” Link had been such a skittish kid.

“Of course,” said Link. “I never minded talking to adults. How do you think I got so much lawn mowing business?”

\- - - - -

Rhett, following his mother’s advice, didn’t question Link directly about the circumstances surrounding this encounter with green tobacco sickness, but Link’s aversion to all things tobacco made more sense, and Rhett now noticed lots of little things Link did to avoid any amount of tobacco smoke. How he’d cross a street, even, to avoid a guy smoking in a doorway, or hold his breath as they passed.

Work on Good Mythical Morning and other projects got progressively more busy over the next few weeks, as they prepped for the projects they’d be working more intensely on during their summer GMM hiatus. 

So much was happening that Rhett dropped trying to explicitly remember and control his dreams. Often, though, he had the sense that they’d featured him driving, slowly, past tobacco fields, looking for Link, looking to make sure he was okay…

Late spring turned into a warm, dry southern California summer. Work during their GMM hiatus was so hectic that both families decided to push their annual not-quite-joint trip east until mid-September – thanks to homeschooling, they weren’t tied to an academic calendar, though all sorts of other schedules, including Locke’s diving, influenced their lives. Just one week this time, which they could manage now that they were making GMMs on a schedule, days to weeks ahead of release.

Once they made it to rural North Carolina, life became about trying to keep the boys amused and polite as they navigated staying in Rhett’s parents’ newer, smaller place, and catching up with relatives on Jessie’s sides of the family. The third day, Jessie told him to just DO SOMETHING with the boys so that they could work off some energy. 

Googling turned up that “Agrotourism” was now, apparently, a thing; and that this thing came with apple picking, hay rides, and corn mazes. Or should that be, “corn maizes”? 

Something seemed familiar about Blue Creek Farm… everything was new, but the land felt… weird…

As Rhett expected, his sons loved the maze, at least at first. Completely unexpectedly, they got very lost, very quickly. After a good half-hour of turns and twists and backtracking, the boys began to flag, and Rhett was feeling a bit frazzled himself. Anything could be in the corn. Anything. If he yelled, would anyone hear them? If they came out a different place from where they went in, would they ever find their way back to their rental SUV? 

Okay, that last worry had been ridiculous. The maze wasn’t THAT big. Presumably once out you could just walk around it, much more quickly than through it.

Still, the sense of dread wouldn’t dissipate.

The terrain rose a little, so Rhett lifted Shepherd up to see whether he could tell how close they were to an edge. Bad idea, hoisting even a 50 lb. five-year-old was too much for his lower vertebrae. Their sharp protest was followed by nerve pain from his shoulders to his knees; his core muscles, not wanting to be left out, contracted in protest, and stayed tight.

As he lowered himself to the hard-packed earth of the path, Locke produced a half-liter bottle of water. “Take a break before you tense up more,” he said. “Lie down a little. Shepherd and I’ll be okay.”

Locke looked and sounded so much like Jessie that Rhett would have laughed, if any sort of movement hadn’t hurt so much. Instead he stretched out, as flat as he could. He’d only rest until his back unknotted…

\- - - - -

When he opened his eyes, the entire maze was gone, replaced by fields of harvest-ready tobacco and a small grove of invasive black locust. It had gotten about twenty degrees warmer while he’d napped – mid-summer humid-hot, not late-summer dry-warm. The ground was moist, as if it had rained that morning. 

“I’m going to take Shepherd for a walk,” Locke called from a slight rise. “Keep resting.”

Yes, okay.

Rhett was almost asleep again when he heard coughing nearby. Locke? 

He rose to his feet easily and walked into the locust grove. A small, shallow stream cut through, not more than three or four feet wide; a dark-haired boy, maybe seventeen but probably younger, was curled in pain on the near bank, retching his guts out.

Link!

Rhett was at Link’s side in an instant and placed a hand on his exposed shoulder. It was clammy, too warm, and much too thin. “’Sokay, ‘sokay,” he murmured, “It’s Rhett. Let’s get you back to your people.”

He picked Link up, waiting for a back spasm that didn’t come.

Still, 130 lbs. of dead weight was 130 lbs. of dead weight. “Come on, do a little work here, buddy,” Rhett said. “Hold on to my neck.”

Link obeyed. “Where’d you come from, Rhett?” he asked. “Why’re you different?”

“It’s complicated,” said Rhett. “Just hold on.”

“I feel awful.”

“I know,” said Rhett. “That’s why I’m carrying you.”

“Oh.”

Rhett headed up to where he’d last seen his son. As he’d hoped, he could see acres – miles - of farmland. A cluster of pre-fab tobacco barns, set a little ways from a small farmhouse, wasn’t very far at all. 

Rhett was within fifty yards of the barns before anyone noticed them. A teenage girl, light brown hair held by two braids, saw them first. “Link!” she yelled, then, “Hey, daddy!” And then a half-dozen Neals charged, the first to arrive trying to strip Link from his arms. 

“No, I’ve got him,” he said. He made it to the shady side of the closest tobacco barn, then set Link down as gently as he could manage. 

Once he was no longer holding Link, the adult men pushed him aside. The girl emptied a bottle of water onto Link’s forehead; one of the boy cousins called, “I’ll go get Uncle Charlie from the house!” and was off.

“It’s green tobacco sickness,” said Rhett. “He should go to a hospital.”

“Of course,” said one of the men. “And you are…”

Rhett didn’t have to come up with an answer, because now he was awake, lying on his back in a corn maze.

\- - - - -

The dream stayed with Rhett as they finally found their way out of the maze, as he let the boys loose in the apple orchard to pick way too many galas and honeycrisps, as they drove back to his parents’ new place.

He threw some sandwiches together and set the boys in front of the TV with instructions to watch something horrible with granddad until their brains dribbled out their ears, then ducked outside and texted Link. “Our rocks, 2 p.m.”

All Link texted back was “Gotcha.”

\- - - - -

Link was waiting for him when he got there, his back against the larger of the two boulders. Rhett slid down next to him. “I had the weirdest dream,” he said.

Rhett expected Link to be incredulous at best, but instead he said, “Let’s hear it.”

“It was about the day you absorbed all that nicotine. The day you got green tobacco sickness.”

When Link didn’t respond, he continued, “Why didn’t you tell me about it, at the time? Why does my mom know all about it, but doesn’t want me to mention it to you? What happened?”

Link shook his head. “I was careless, forgot to wear gloves, got too much wet tobacco on my legs and forearms. Got to feeling sick, and went to cool off in this stream that ran through the farm. You know they sold, right? My uncle’s farm? It’s now some sort of attraction. Anyway, there’s a stream we used to wade in, just in case the tobacco wasn’t toxic enough – let’s get some pesticide and fertilizer into them kids!”

He looked at Rhett like he expected him to be taking some sort of bait, but Rhett just waved for him to continue.

“I don’t remember much, just that a man found me there. Big guy. Big enough to pick me up with ease. He carried me back to the barns. And… my uncles said he seemed ‘overly familiar.’ Like he knew me. And it seemed to my family that I knew him. Nobody knows what he was doing out there. One of my uncles – I won’t say which one – thinks, or thought, that I’d gone to the creek specifically to meet him. My cousins think he was stalking me. Or one of them, or all of them, but probably me.” 

“Keep going,” said Rhett.

“But I’m thinking it was you.”

And now Link, unexpectedly, was angry. “Why’d you do it? I’m guessing you’re not in the habit of regular time travel. Why’d you waste your shot at changing the past? I wasn’t dying. Green tobacco sickness doesn’t kill anybody.”

Rhett wished he’d thought to have some sort of speech about Link’s worth ready, but… well, actually Link had a pretty good point. “I don’t know,” he said, going for the truth. “It wasn’t something I chose to do.”

“So… it happened in a dream? You found me?”

“I found you, I gave you to a pack of surprisingly efficient and compassionate Neals.”

Link laughed a little. “They have their moments,” he said, then sobered and asked, “It really was unintentional? It really just - happened?”

Rhett thought of all the dreams of the past months. “I think I’d been working on it a while.”

Link nodded. “I knew you were working through something.” He gripped Rhett’s closest knee. “Thanks,” he said. “Wish I could pay you back.”

A dozen snappy phrases came to Rhett – ‘you’re worth it’ or ‘you pay me back every day’ or ‘I’d do it again in a heartbeat’ – but he couldn’t say any of them.

Instead, he closed his eyes as tightly as he could and covered Link’s hand with his own. “Uh, yup,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> All feedback appreciated! Don't feel the need to be constructive.
> 
> That I know nothing about back pain, nicotine exposure, or lucid dreaming, should be obvious! And my personal experiments with time travel have been unsuccessful.
> 
> [A complete first draft of this story survived the writing process](http://wneleh.livejournal.com/917319.html), if you're curious.


End file.
